This former farm girl nearly heaved up her lunch. The image is burned into my brain. I am grimacing even as I type, recalling the sordid memory.
"I ran over a baby bunny with the mower accidentally," explained Hubby.
My eyes were fixated on the bloody hunks and trying to keep 2yr old Minnie from seeing them or stepping on them.
"Can we remove them from the children's play area?" I pleaded (rather strongly)
Apparently bloody hunks of bunny were not of concern to Hubby, but he sweetly complied.
And then I saw the brother and sister of the previously whole bunny. The Mousekins were adoring them, begging to keep them.
They were a cute and adorable sight!!!
Why are babies so much cuter than the adult version?
So a tragedy turned into a sweet time of bunny-loving!
And we will just pretend that is the end of the story, as we all like to end on a happy note and not dwell on the fact that these two precious bunnies were relocated out to Papa's pond and have surely met their demise.
Can we all agree to stick with the "Happier ever after!"?